


Cue

by doublejoint



Category: One Piece
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29391324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doublejoint/pseuds/doublejoint
Summary: Law drinks from Tashigi's coffee cup, and she lets him.
Relationships: Tashigi/Trafalgar D. Water Law
Kudos: 9
Collections: February Ficlet Challenge 2021: Apocalypse No





	Cue

**Author's Note:**

> For Day 12 of the February Ficlet Challenge: Robot

Tashigi has thought, once or twice, that it would be appealing to be a robot. To program herself with exact statistical capabilities, force herself to be capable, turn off her emotions and impulses, and surrender to the gears would allow her to do better than she can now. But that’s all theoretical, and she’d know her absolute ceiling; she’d be pushed up against a barrier she can’t move by greasing her gears. And, if robots can feel satisfaction, the robot-her’s satisfaction of improving would never match up to her human satisfaction and pride. It’s illogical, perhaps, but it’s not a choice she really has to make, so it probably doesn’t matter. 

Still, if she could fine-tune herself, up her strength, make it easier to lift heavier weights or run for longer or sweep a sword through the air in the right way, come up with an attack perfectly suited to her skills and capabilities--it’s a nice fantasy, but just a fantasy. Thinking of that does nothing when she’s marking even more notes in her dog-eared catalogue of swords, thinking of the ones she’s taken and the people who could use them well, certainly not her, not yet. 

Though again, she’d rather pull Shigure up with her, perhaps her folly and attachment when the idea of being worthy of wielding a greater sword should be so attractive to her. Then again, it’s comforting to know she’s not the only person who thinks this way. There are Marines who outrank her who have been carrying the same weapons since before she’d signed up to join--though in some cases, like Smoker’s, they’re custom weapons. Yet she knows that a weapon is only as good as the person using it--that’s her reason for pursuing swords in the hands of people incapable of honoring their true strength. But a weapon is better if you know it, isn’t it? She knows Shigure’s weight; she always will, no matter how much she increases her strength. She knows its tiny flaws, and the correct angle at which to unsheath it. She knows its cutting power; as much as her attacks are tailored to her they are tailored to her weapon.

And, if Tashigi were to take her cues from a pirate, and she would never, Law’s sword is far below his level as a swordsman. It’s suited to him, and he’s suited to it, and he really ought to increase its grade (and, in the interest of the sword, Tashigi has said as much to him). So it’s not an unusual thing for her to do, but that doesn’t make it the right thing for her, in her situation, to do. And it’s not a decision she has to make yet, anyway, behind several bends in the road if her current pace of training is anything to go by.

He drinks from her coffee cup and she lets him, staring into the shape of his hands on the cup, long fingers and short nails, tattoos and tiny scars and scrapes, one thumb hooked under the handle. There’s a chip there, like the mug she keeps at the base, dropped one too many times in haste. That one’s pink, not white, though, and there’s no coffee ring stained on the inside like this, and it’s hers, not a cafe’s. She won’t superimpose that one on this image, and before Law can take another sip she places her hands over his and tugs the mug back. He lets it go. 

“Get yourself more,” she says.

He rests his chin on one hand, his elbow on the table. His sword is close by his side, by his other arm, his sword arm, leaning against the wall. Habitual, probably. He follows her gaze, and she pushes her glasses up as they slip down her nose. He reaches his sword hand across the table, his fingers brushing the inside of her wrist. At this point, his skin is warmer than the mug, and she should get more coffee, too.

* * *

The rain starts as they leave the cafe. The street has already emptied out, and Law pulls out a pocket umbrella, just large enough to fit both of them underneath if they lean in. It’s too hot out to feel like huddling, but not hot enough that the proximity makes them sweat. The worn-smooth heels of Tashigi’s boots scrape the road in an almost precarious way; she needs to get them re-soled (not quite replaced yet, the nails aren’t digging into her feet through her socks, and the upper isn’t close to worn through). She stops thinking about the lack of traction, though, and it’s then her heel slips on the smooth surface and her ankle twists and her knee buckles and Law’s arm is fast around her waist before she even half-falls. Her face flares hot; the umbrella is at the wrong angle now and the rain splatters against her glasses. Fuck. 

He doesn’t ask if she’s all right, and maybe she should resent that. Or she should resent his arm tight around her waist, still, but she wants this closeness. She’s tired of thinking about where she should be and what she should want, of making things complicated enough to cry about. And Law is holding the umbrella in his sword hand, sword in the crook of his elbow, not so easily drawn. They’re not on a battlefield; they’re not in a particularly dangerous town (the likelihood of Law being recognized, or of either of them being taken for an easy target, is low). But her hand is close enough to her own sword. Even in this weather, her feet in these boots on this road, she won’t let him down as a first line of defense, and won’t let her guard down completely. Tashigi wipes the rain from her glasses. She can see now how rumpled his shirt collar is, and reaches up to fix it; like a cat, he leans into her fingers. She smiles, and this time when he leans down he keeps the umbrella over them. Her hand is on the hilt of her sword when he kisses her, just in case, though when they begin to walk again the street is just as empty as it was before. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
